


Stay

by richyee



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Character Death of Parents, Gen, Kind of confusing yikes, Messy writing as it's following Richie's mindset., Richie and Mike Friendship, Richie returns to Derry too soon, Richie-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 02:33:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14632268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/richyee/pseuds/richyee
Summary: Big Ma and Pops bite the dust sometimes, it happens to everyone.However, Richie refuses to let the house fall into those kinds of hands that he knows are everywhere.





	Stay

Richie’s fingers plucked around in sparse grasses in the backyard of his old house in Derry, Maine.  
His mom, Maggie, had bit the dust a month ago.  
‘Big Ma,’ he wanted to say, ‘where ya goin Big Ma? Why’d ya leave?’  
But everything had changed.

Yet everything has stayed.  
No one wants an old house from the 1950’s anymore, no one except ghost hunters and meth-heads and Richie couldn’t let that happen. Not to the house where Big Ma and Pops had tried their best to raise him.  
His fingers skimmed the wooden table in the kitchen, thirty years outdated. The same table where Pops had laid the Sunday paper and battled with Richie over who could make the best Bugs Bunny voice.  
“Well what’s up Doc, what the fuck is up?” he murmured. The noise echoed in the empty house. Tears poured over Richie’s cheeks, rushing, rushing. His contacts popped out of his eyes from the tears that he couldn’t stop.  
He seemed to glide into his room, not understanding that he was moving. He stepped into the doorframe with his backup glasses on, looking more like the twelve-year-old he had once been more than he had since that summer that he couldn’t quite remember. Mike Hanlon would have the answers, something that wriggled in the back of his head seemed to cry. But who was he? Who?

 

He picked up his old and busted Walkman, his room really hadn’t been touched since he left for California. Just like Big Ma promised even when he didn’t come home for New Years, or Thanksgiving, or Christmas. Even though they could have rented it out and made spare change they kept it. He didn’t deserve the memories that floated in his head. It wasn’t his fault, not really. Not when he forgot about Derry entirely due to an external force. He wouldn’t realize this until months later, soon though.  
‘From Bill and Eddie’ a stray tape informed him, sitting next to his Walkman. It was worn, with the tapes loose and well loved. Who were Bill and Eddie, though? He popped the tape into the outdated music player and gave it a listen.  
Buddy Holly sang in that old Rock and Roll way that Richie had loved, that (Mother) Big Ma had hated because she didn’t understand the appeal. Big Bill and Eds had known him well. (Never bothered to get to know him well)  
Suddenly, a hoarse voice blared out. Surely not a Rockstar, not something that these two mystery people would have put on the tape, because they had known him well he had determined. 

 

“Welcome ladies and gents to Richie Tozier’s All-Dead Rock Show!” it screamed. No not it, It.

 

Richie felt hot breath swelling against his neck and ruby liquid trickled out of his ear from the volume. This wasn’t possible for a Walkman, not possible. Possible for that old transistor that Ben had broke while Bowers and his gang were attempting to kill Beverly and he had hidden her so cleverly in that little underground club house. 

 

But who were they? What were these thoughts? Richie wheezed and fell to his knees on that old and moldy carpet in his room from the 1940s to the 1960s. Crawling with childhood memories and dust he started choking as the hot breath crept from around his neck into his mouth and he felt it there.

 

He let out a gasping sob as the Derry Librarian burst into his room, armed with those silver slugs that Richie had dancing in his mind ever since he set foot back in this old town that had suffocated him so deeply. The hot breath was gone and Richie grabbed the librarian and just cried for a moment. Or two. An hour. But Mike wouldn’t tell, not good old Mike.  
‘Cause he was the same, no matter how many nights Richie had left him. Mike had been waiting, not like a dog, but an old and weary lighthouse. Flashing its lights for those who were looking.


End file.
